


Mess

by Grace_Logan



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-27
Updated: 2018-09-27
Packaged: 2019-07-18 02:39:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16109066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grace_Logan/pseuds/Grace_Logan
Summary: Altair has recently returned from an extremely messy mission and wishes to calm himself before visiting the master.





	Mess

Their errant master assassin had returned not an hour ago. He hadn't taken the time to wash down his horse as he usually did. He hadn't rushed his way up to the castle full of purpose and bravado. He hadn't run in to the grand master to report his success. He had left his horse to the initiates, fur matted with the crusted blood of... someone. The horse had no injuries of its own. He'd taken the long way back to the castle, avoiding the open spaces as much as he could and garnering gasps and gazes of horror where he couldn't. He'd stripped his robes in the courtyard, armour and sheathes alike, and sat himself down in a corner of the yard to close his eyes to the world and meditate.

To say they knew what to do from here was a falsity of proportions they couldn't begin to comprehend. Altair had not a single weapon on him bar his hidden blade, no armour and was just sitting there. Eyes closed. As though he felt at ease with many heavily armed, highly dangerous assassins, who collectively didn't much like him, going about their rounds and training and watching him. Wondering just what fresh hell he'd invited upon them or himself.

Few were brave enough to approach anywhere near him. His presence alone having cleared out anyone within a three-meter radius from him. Two initiates. New. They'd been assigned to Altair when he was away. They'd watched the other initiates with mentors running errands for their mentor. Cleaning their robes and armour and taking care of their gear. The two weren't brave enough to touch Altair's weapons, but they did sit nearby and start cleaning his armour. Scrubbing out the dried blood stuck in the seams and brushing away the flaky layer covering the rest.

Altair didn't even appear to notice. He didn't move an inch. They could, at least, tell he was still breathing and in no danger of stopping any time soon. When done with the scarce amount of armour Altair wore they made off with his robes and returned minutes later with a fresh, folded and bloodless one that they laid in place of the blood rag from before. They stood around awkwardly, quietly, shifting from foot to foot and sharing glances as they waited for him to acknowledge them or their efforts to make a good impression.

He didn't. He stayed seated, eyes closed. They waited, growing nervous. Thinking perhaps they hadn't done enough or done well enough. They regarded the weapons, sheathes just as messed up as the rest of his gear had been. A chunk of flesh could be seen squished between a sheath and his short sword. They tried not to be too disturbed by it. But Altair had never returned so thoroughly wrecked. Nobody wanted to even try to imagine what he'd done to the people who got in his way.

"Leave them."

His initiates froze. They'd barely turned towards the weapons let alone taken a step. He sounded annoyed. He was annoyed at them. They hadn't been introduced properly and he was already annoyed with them. They mumbled apologies. He didn't reply. They slunk away, embarrassed and full of anxiety.

By now he'd been on the premises for an hour. Word had reached Al Mualim of his return and yet Altair had yet to show his face before him. Had his mission gone so badly? Had he been shamed by failure he so loathed to report on? Al Mualim intended to find out. Even though it meant confronting Altair himself.

#

Every eye was glued to the grand master venturing from their fortress to seek out Altair. Altair remained a statue as Al Mualim approached. Nobody stopped what they were doing, but they watched intently. The grand master drew closer. Altair didn't so much as twitch. It was hard to believe that he had no idea what was happening around him. That he had no idea the grand master approached. He was always so completely aware of everything. It had to be exhausting.

Al Mualim swiftly crossed the yard. He eyed Altair's gear, dumped on the ground, and then eyed Altair himself, still not showing any sign of awareness for his surroundings. He made the mistake of not calling out first. He made the mistake of stepping forward, into Altair's reach. He made the mistake of laying a hand on him without warning and found the world suddenly jerked out from under him. Tipping. Air punched from his body as it hit the ground with a thud. Altair pinned him, knee pressing down on his chest. Al Mualim didn't dare so much as breathe with the tip of a hidden blade at his jugular.

The yard was silent.

Altair could have heard a pin drop. It was then that he fully came back to himself. Found Al Mualim at the end of his blade and jerked away. He flited to his gear, threw his robe over his shoulder and swept up his abandoned gear and stopped. Torn between booking it immediately and reporting to the grand master currently being helped to his feet by Rauf.

All eyes were on them, him. Disbelief was palpable. Outrage was minimal. Nobody knew how to react. So, they watched. They watched Altair shift between going for the gates and waiting for Al Mualim. Watched the grand master watch Altair as he got steady on his feet. Old age doing nothing to assist his plight.

"Altair-"

"I. I will take my rest in Jerusalem."

The assassins were mind blown. Al Mualim was speechless. Altair was finally making his escape, juggling his equipment precariously. Out the gates and down the path, it took him far longer than it should, but he reappeared at the bottom encased in his robe and armour. Sheathes still getting fiddled with in his hasty retreat. He reached the village gates, pinched a horse without the knowledge of the assassins on duty, still busy caring for Altair's steed of choice, and galloped off full speed.

#

The grand master straightened out his robes and drew himself up. Across the yard he spotted the initiates he'd assigned to Altair. They shifted uneasily under his gaze. Looking after their mentor and then to each other with uncertainty. They hadn't had the chance to be introduced properly yet, it seemed. Al Mualim beckoned them over.

"Grand Master." They greeted.

"Gather your belongings. Meet with Altair in Jerusalem. I will send a message ahead of you to Rafiq Malik. He will introduce you to your mentor."

"We will leave immediately."

"Safety and peace in your future Yasir, Karim."

"Safety and peace grand master." They said and sped off to complete their tasks. Al Mualim took his time making his way to his desk. Sure to hold himself tall and proud in front of the other assassins. Formulating what he would tell Malik as he went.

Sat at his desk he drafted his message, called a pigeon and sent it off, letter dangling from its foot.


End file.
